


Halloween Weekend 2019 Prompt Collection

by kototyph



Series: Halloween Trick or Treat Ficlets [20]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural, Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 17:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21285917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kototyph/pseuds/kototyph
Summary: CH1 - Supernatural, DeanCas - "For the trope mashup game: forgotten first meeting and flirting under fire."CH2 - MCU, Gen - "Why do they call it Laffy Taffy?"CH3 - Temeraire (Naomi Novik), Laurence/Tharkay - "Laurence the annoyingly upright single DILF takes his son trick or treating in Tenzing's neighborhood every year. This year, Tenzing is ready for them…"CH4 - Good Omens, Pre-Crowley/Aziraphale - "Detective AU!"
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Castiel/Dean Winchester, William Laurence/Tenzing Tharkay
Series: Halloween Trick or Treat Ficlets [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/28649
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	1. For the trope mashup game: forgotten first meeting and flirting under fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queeniebroccolini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queeniebroccolini/gifts).
**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Tags: The Mummy, Guns, Alcohol, We're on a Boat, Wrong Side of the Riii-verrr

“Have I told you I love you?” Dean says to the man in the ugly greatcoat, and ducks as another round of gunfire aerates the wall above them. “I love you.”

The man says, “I know,” with an unusual amount of surety for a perfect stranger. Having passed Dean two full boxes of extra ammunition, he’s now calmly reloading an absolutely mammoth handgun, the barrel easily twice the size of the one on Dean’s Colt. He snaps the chamber closed with a practiced twist and returns Dean’s look with raised eyebrows; Dean finds it more alluring than he should, considering they’re being shot at. “Shall we?”

Dean gives him a wide grin. “Oh, let’s,” he says, and rolls to a low crouch as another barrage showers them in shards of wood and plaster. “The door to the lower deck should be in running distance, provided we keep to starboard until—”

Next to him, the man stands, aims, and fires three thundering shots through the hole bored through the wall. The gunfire from their friends across the deck abruptly ceases.

“You’re  _ fantastic _ ,” Dean says, and the man sighs and offers him a hand up.

“Yes, you’ve said that too.”

“Have I?” Dean says, confused, but there are shouts and the sound of running feet coming from the bowside. “A question for another time, perhaps.”

“As you say,” the man agrees, and they’re off.

Sam is fully dressed but bootless when they get to their cabin, trying to convince Rowena to “Put down that damned book for one precious minute and put on some  _ clothes _ , for God’s sake! We need to get off this ship!”

“Y’think I don’t  _ know that,  _ ye doaty shite?” she yells back, then sees Dean. “An’  _ you _ \--”

There’s a rattling boom from somewhere below them, and the floor lurches alarmingly.

“Ma’am,” the man next to Dean says with a short bow to Rowena. “With apologies, I believe Mr. Winchester is correct, and that we should exit the ship immediately.”

“Do we know you?” Dean asks, mystified, and Sam groans loudly.

“Dean, take Castiel and grab the weapon bags. I’ll take this,” he says, and with Rowena’s furious scream has her over his shoulders and is out through the door. 

_ “Bloody brute!” _

“You really don’t recall?” the man, Castiel, says, already reaching out for the canvas bag Dean tosses him. “Well. You were certainly quite inebriated.”

The smell of burning wood and petrol is starting to fill the air, a haze of smoke growing near the ceiling. “Was I?”

They start down the hallway. “Oh yes,” Castiel says. “You told me you were looking for a cursed city in the middle of the desert, made of gold and full of the resurrected dead. I’d be rich beyond my wildest dreams if I agreed to marry you.”

Dean catches Castiel’s bland look out of the corner of his eye and starts to smile. “Did you say yes?”

“Of course I did,” Castiel says. His gaze is warm in the thickening fug. “I’ve always wanted to fight a mummy.”

* * *

Later, Dean has the great joy of calling,  _ “Lady Bevell! Looks like you’re on the wrong side of the riiii-verr!”  _ back across the muddy waters of the Nile. Castiel pulls him away before the crocodiles can crawl onto the beach after them.


	2. "Why do they call it Laffy Taffy?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Tags: Infinity War Part II, Halloween Candy, Tony Stark & Nebula, Hospital, Captain Awkward

“It’s the jokes,” Rhodey says, turning the wrapper over in his hand. “Look, on the inside there should be a—”

“What does taffy have to do with jokes,” Nebula asks, flat. 

“It has _everything _to do with jokes,” Tony says, voice raspy, and she turns her unblinking stare stare on him. “Taffy _is _the joke, it’s laughable, literally no one likes it.”

“I like taffy,” Nebula says around a wad of candy she’s been chewing for several minutes, with no change in expression.

“Well, you’re also an alien, so that tracks,” Tony says, and waves at Rhodey with the hand that doesn’t have an IV line. “C’mon, throw me one.”

“Is this in your meal plan?” Rhodey says archly. He still throws him one, because Rhodey is the best. But— 

“Banana?” Tony asks him, betrayed. “Rhodey, I am in the hospital, I  _ nearly died.  _ I deserve cherry, raspberry at the very least—”

“Banana’s not so bad,” says a voice from the doorway, and they all look up at Steve. He’s trying very hard to lean nonchalantly against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes all for Tony. “It’s the taffy itself that’ll pull all your teeth out.”

“Then put your money where your mouth is, Cap,” Tony says, and chucks it at him. He only very fleetingly wishes it were a knife, or one of those cool ninja stars. 

Steve catches it, skins it, pops it in his mouth. “It’s, uh… ” he says, chewing. “Sweet.”

“I like sweet,” Nebula says, and holds out her hand for another. 

“Why don’t we switch to something a little more nutritious for a while,” Rhodey says, setting the bag aside, and Tony makes a sound of outrage.

“Captain Banana stole my taffy! Gimme!” 

“Colonel Carrot Stick says you both need some vitamins,” Rhodey answers, and actually pulls out a Ziploc of mixed veggies, the monster.

“Oh, uh— they were handing these out at the front desk?”

Steve has a full-size Snickers bar in his hand and is holding it out with a tentative air, like it might not stack up to a  _ banana Laffy Taffy. _

“Give me that immediately,” Tony says, manages to eat half before Rhodey wrestles it out of his hands.


	3. Laurence the annoyingly upright single DILF takes his son trick or treating in Tenzing's neighborhood every year. This year, Tenzing is ready for them…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-Specific Tags: Alternate Universe - All Human, Trick or Treating, Halloween, Shirtless Tenzing

“He’s coming he’s coming  _ he’s coming he’s coming—”  _

Iskierka’s yell reaches the pitch and vibrance of an air raid siren as she runs past Tenzing’s spot in the parlor towards the front door. Her father jogs after her, apologizing to the partygoers through whose legs she barrels on her way.  _ “So  _ sorry, yes, terribly sorry, you know how children are, yes, sorry again— Iski,  _ please—  _ ”

This is the moment, then. Tenzing stands, drink in hand, and follows Granby through to the foyer, where Iskierka is fighting with the doorknob and the shadows of two figures can be seen on the stoop.

“Patience, my girl,” Granby says, and scoops her up, seemingly impervious to her tiny fists striking his chest and her piercing demands to be put down. He opens the door.

_ “Temeraire!”  _ Iskierka shouts. 

“Hello,” the boy in question says, looking a bit taken aback.

“Good evening,” says Captain William Laurence, a hand on his son’s back. It’s clear he’s taken no great pains with his costume— a pointy hat and long cape over black trousers and sweater— but Temeraire is head to toe in plush scales, with wings and clawed mittens and meticulously even green paint covering his face. “Granby, I hope you’re well.”

“Well enough!” Granby says, hitching his thrashing daughter up over his shoulder. “Come in, come in, plenty of food still on the table, and plenty of candy for you, young sir.”

“Thank you,” Temeraire says gravely as the two step inside, and then his eyes alight on Tenzing, leaning on the bannister of the front stairs. “Mr. Tharkay!”

Because he’s watching, Tenzing sees Laurence’s eyes turn past Granby and land squarely on Tenzing’s bared and oiled chest. 

“Nin hao, Mr. Tharkey,” Temeraire says with earnest concentration on the syllables, trotting up to him. Behind Temeraire, his father trips over the entryway rug and stumbles the rest of the way into the house.

“Ni hao, Temeraire,” Tenzing says, smiling down at him, and continues in Mandarin. “Have you come as a dragon?”

“Yes!” Temeraire turns in place to show his tail. “The green dragon of the east, Qinglong—”

With an Amazon ululation, Iskierka breaks free from Granby’s hold and launches herself at Temeraire. “Play with me!”

“Wait,” Temeraire starts as she grabs his arm, but he’s dragged away at impressive speed. 

“Be gentle with him!” Granby calls after her. “Sorry, William. She’s managed to get her hands on the sweets despite my best efforts, and, well.”

“I’m sure he’ll survive. Tharkay,” Laurence greets him, finally, and sounds unusually gruff. He appears to be straining to keep his eyes above the neck. “That’s… quite the costume.”

“Oh, do you like it?” Tenzing asks, spreading his arms. “I’m meant to be Bruce Lee in  _ Fists of Fury _ .” 

“Is that so,” Laurence says, blinking hard.

It feels like overdoing it a touch, but in for a penny. Tenzing says, “It’s quite political for a kung fu movie,” and flexes into a first-year pose.

Laurence’s gaze drops like an anchor, dragging all the way down to Tenzing’s waistband. Granby laughs and says, “Good God, man! Put those away, you’ll cause a riot.”

Tenzing waits until Laurence looks up again, and the man’s expression takes on a slightly panicked cast. Tenzing smiles beatifically at him. “Could I get you a drink, Captain?”

“A drink,” Laurence says. 

“A drink,” Tenzing confirms.

“Yes, let’s all get drinks, shall we?” Granby says, oblivious or faking it well, and pushes the two of them onward towards the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wizard later found in closet with his dumb turtleneck up pushed up to his armpits and a debilitating case of nip hickies, Bruce Lee main suspect


	4. Detective AU!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-Specific Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Pre-Romance, Meet Cute, Crowley's Plants, Constable Aziraphale Will Murder You with No Qualms

The knocking never gets any louder or more frenetic. It just goes on and on and  _ on _ , echoing through the poured concrete and upcycled wood until Crowley throws open the front door to snarl at however dares disturb his Sunday, still clutching a maidenhair fern to his chest. 

“Hello!” the constable outside says brightly, warrant card in hand. “Mr. Anthony J. Crowley?”

Crowley nearly trips over his own threshold as he hastily tries to rearrange his expression to one of saintly innocence. “Er, yes. Hello. To you.  _ Hello, _ ” he ends lamely, bracing himself on the lintel.

“Thank you for confirming that, Mr. Crowley,” the constable says, and tucks the card away. “My name is Constable Fell. You don’t mind if I come in for a moment, I hope?” He doffs his hat like the platonic ideal of London bobby, his cherub-cheeked smile never wavering. 

Crowley most assuredly does mind, he minds quite a lot, but the constable steps closer and Crowley stumbles again getting out of the way before he really thinks about it. The constable turns to shut the door behind him with a tidy little turn.

“What’s this about?” Crowley asks, retreating to console and its aesthetically pleasing, wholly empty receptacles for mail, keys, and bricabracks. No one mails Crowley anything more than once, and bricabracks are for the childishly-minded; the dishes are marble, though, and nice to look at. 

“Mr. Crowley, I regret to say that we’ve received a noise complaint from your neighbors,” Constable Fell says, advancing. Crowley falls back to the fig tree, then the archway to the kitchen. The constable looks around the open-plan flat as he steps in from the foyer as if searching for something. “Shouting, yelling. That sort of thing.”

“Oh, they’re always on about that,” Crowley says with a weak attempt at humor, and feels properly quashed when the constable pins him with a glance.

“Do you live alone, Mr. Crowley?”

“Yes?” Crowley says, backing away again as the constable walks on. 

“Any visitors recently?”

“More the solitary type, me,” Crowley says, hitting the wall next to the conservatory door. 

“Does that mean no?”

“Erm. Yes. That is to say, no— no visitors.”

“I ask because your neighbors noted there was some uncivil language being used,” Fell says with a friendly crinkle of his eyes. “Death threats, even.”

“Haha,” Crowley says, clutching the maidenhair to his chest. “Oh, yes. That. Well.”

Fell smiles. “Do continue, Mr. Crowley.”

“ _ Well. _ You see, it’s Repotting Day,” Crowley says, hoping the capital letters transfer. 

They do not. “I’m sorry?” Fell says.

“Repotting Day, it’s when— well— I’ve a few stubborn lads in the back and they just didn’t want to give up their old pots, no matter that their roots are crawling through the drainage holes and the soil’s settled to half volume,” Crowley babbles. “I mean, I’d never  _ really  _ put them down the disposal, but they don’t have to know that, do they? They’d get so full of themselves they’d grow any which way, wouldn’t they? Can’t have them getting uppity and shoving their stamens and rhizomes and whatnots all over the place, can I? It’s just not cricket, not cricket at all...”

Fell listens with polite attention until Crowley trails off. “I see. Perhaps you could show me your lads, Mr. Crowley,” he suggests.

The conservatory still has black soil all over the rough slate tiling, open bags of it spilling onto the floor and potting station in the back near the sink. It’s so densely packed with green as to be claustrophobic, humid as Satan’s arsehole, and easily twenty degrees warmer than the flat outside. The plumeria in the corner is doing its best to choke out every other pollinator in the vicinity and the stench is enough to send a mortal man reeling.

Constable Fell stands in the lacing sunlight and stares with a look of honest wonder. Crowley tries to edge in front of the worst of the dirt.

“And, well. These are the lads,” he says with a half-hearted gesture.

“I see.” Fell’s head cranes back, following the reach of one of the feistier ivies towards the skylights. “This is… amazing, Mr. Crowley.”

“D’you think so?” Crowley says. It’s not like he commonly brings people to the flat; the last person to spend any amount of time in the conservatory was a boyfriend who’d been rather hideous towards the end, and tried to steal an orchid besides. 

“Absolutely astounding." He means it; Crowley can tell by the light in his gaze when it falls to Crowley. "Beautiful."

Crowley shrinks behind the maidenhair, feeling himself turning red for _no earthly reason. _"W-well! It's nothing special. Just a hobby, really."

"And I can see you take care of them very well," Fell says. "Despite the death threats.”

Crowley winces. "Ah. That."

“It would be an entirely different matter if you said such things to pets, you see. Or children.”

While Fell's smile doesn’t dim, the look in his eyes sends a sudden wintry chill to the depths of Crowley’s soul. “Aha,” Crowley says faintly. “No, of course. I’d never.”

“That’s very good to hear,” Constable Fell says with gentle menace. “If I might suggest you moderate the volume of further repotting efforts?”

“Yes, certainly,” Crowley hastens to assure him. 

The constable nods, takes his leave with the same inexorable push through the flat he’d used on entry, and Crowley spends the rest of the day feeling vaguely poleaxed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.K.A. the first chapter of a five-times fic where it's "Five Times Crowley Broke the Law and One Time Aziraphale Did (That Law Was the One Against Public Indecency and He Broke It Doing Something Awfully Naughty to Crowley in the Royal Gardens at Kew)"

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, there were more prompts than I could do in the short time given that I might randomly post later... as one does


End file.
